Summer's Longing

As this summer's day draws to a close
I sit and watch the roses on the sill.
Three in number, growing graciously,
Each with a hue all its own, and I think.
I think of all the joy they have brought,
To all, but to this heart especially.
I have watched them grow, mature
Over these past months and I am warmed.

To the right, growing stubbornly
Against the clean tiled wall grows
A white rose, straight and confident.
Its modest leaves a testament to its beauty.
Yet the sight of it often pains me,
Much more than the prick of its thorns.
I only wish that its head, now only
Half open, can survive in the autumn sun.

Centred, bold and beautiful, grows
A red rose of quaint beauty.
Its buds ready to bring new life
In the spring. With the sun’s newfound
Warmth it grows with vitality and
The sight of it warms my hearth.
How I long that it could always
Remain this way, bathing in the
Warm caress of a summer’s sun.

Lastly, on the left grows a rose,
A rose of unequalled beauty.
A fire orange head a tribute
To its absolute uniqueness.
Too many times I’ve gazed upon it
In a vain attempt to drain its
Splendour for my own. Now though
I must let it grow, free of touch.

As the light darkens I close
These heavy, tired eyes.
No more can I stand to face
The triumph of beauty before my eyes.
I wish I could leave this place,
Leave the memories behind.
Yet still I long to live here;
Live here among the roses.